"My _key_!" he repeated in amazement. "Why?"

"Because I mean to lock you in for the night," she said sternly.

"Without that degrading precaution we can not feel safe."

Mrs. Wetherby said nothing, but nodded a grim approval.

"I recognize your claims as hostess," replied Lionel amicably, "but, really, this is carrying the thing too far. I am not the vulgar intriguer you suppose--I merely kidnaped that charming----"

"If you refuse," interrupted Winifred with basilisk eyes, "I shall ring for Forbes and have you turned out of the house at once. Do you understand?"

Lionel sighed.

"I ought to have known," he said, "that a woman judges by emotion, not reason. In the morning perhaps I shall be able to convince you of my innocence." He gave her the key, which she s.n.a.t.c.hed with unnecessary vehemence. "Good night. Thank you for an uneventful evening."

She ignored the insolence, which he justified to himself by her unreasonable suspicions. Leaving him in a nonchalant att.i.tude, she swept out like an offended princess, her satellite following in an eloquent silence. Lionel heard the key turn dismally in the lock, and then the sound of footsteps retreating down the pa.s.sage. He laughed gently to himself.

"Good lord, what a muddle!" he said, "and what an evening! First, the face at the window (what a t.i.tle for a melodrama!--Dash it! I've seen it already on the posters!); second, the appearance of Mizzi; third, discovered by Winifred. Climax after climax, and I was beginning to think myself bored. _Bored_ ... ye G.o.ds!... all I need at the present moment is bed: I've done enough thinking to scour my brain-pan for a year."

He undressed rapidly and got into bed. As he pulled the clothes about him he chuckled, remembering Winifred's face. Then he grew grave.

"Sacked to-morrow, old boy!" he muttered. "Marching orders at breakfast and no mistake! But before I go I'll ask her straight out what little Mizzi is doing here." And then he turned over and was soon asleep.

But the horn of plenty still had some gifts to shower upon him: the G.o.d of mischances had not yet exhausted his store of thrills. About five minutes, as it seemed, after his retiring--it was really an hour and a half--Lionel was roused from a deep slumber by a knock. He sat up in bed, blinking heavily, wondering if his senses had deceived him, whether he was dreaming or awake. For a moment he sat listening, and then the knock was repeated, distinct beyond the possibility of mistake.

"Confound it!" he muttered in an ill temper; "they might give me a night off now.... To-morrow I'll hang a placard on my door--'Conspiracies attended to from nine A. M. to eleven P. M. Kindly note hours of consultation.'--h.e.l.lo!" he said aloud; "is anybody there?"

The door opened a few inches, but no one entered. Lionel was too bored to speculate whether it might be Mizzi, Winifred or some unknown Oriental with turban and simitar. He was prepared to accept anything, if only he might be allowed to go to sleep. "h.e.l.lo!" he repeated; "who is that?"

"Me," said the voice of Miss Arkwright. "Are you asleep, Mr. Mortimer?"

"Yes," said Lionel, grinning in the darkness--"sound asleep."

A species of cluck was heard from outside the door, but whether the strange sound indicated amus.e.m.e.nt or wrath he could not determine. He was wide awake now, determined to exact vengeance for his cavalier treatment.

"Some one," continued the voice, "is prowling round the house. A thief, I suppose. He seems to have a ladder."

"Oh!" said Lionel, in the dispa.s.sionate tone of the village idiot. "Oh!"

Again there was silence, save for a repet.i.tion of the curious cluck.

Presently Winifred said in a voice that trembled with indignation, "Is that all you have to say?"

"You might give him my kind regards, and ask him to leave this room untouched," said Lionel, beginning to enjoy himself. He could picture Winifred biting her lip. "Good night, and pleasant dreams."

"You are a _man_, and my guest," said the voice bitterly, "and you leave us at the mercy of a possible murderer----"

"Not a guest," he corrected, "but a prisoner. If you require a man, why not ask Forbes? You were ready enough to use him just now."

Again there was silence. When she spoke again it was in the meekest of tones--so meek, indeed, that he scarcely recognized it as Winifred's.

"Mr. Mortimer, I am very sorry. Please be generous. I threatened you with a weapon I did not possess. Forbes sleeps in the village."

Lionel could not repress a laugh. He had been bluffed, but bore no malice. Enough of vengeance had been exacted. He could accept the capitulation without loss of dignity, for Miss Arkwright--most properly--had been obliged to ask his help.

"A moment," he said, "and I shall be with you."

Jumping out of bed, he hastily put on his dressing-gown in the dark.

Then he opened the door and joined Winifred in the corridor. She was in a dressing-gown, too, and looked charming _en deshabille_, her glorious hair unbound. But no time was allowed for more than a glance of admiration. Taking him by the arm, she hurried him along, explaining how she had not gone to sleep, but had lain thinking. "My light was out, of course," she said; "and this marauder, whoever he is, must have thought all the household asleep. I watched him cross the lawn and presently bring back a ladder from the potting-shed. He reared it against the window of an empty room. I at once came to you. As soon as he has discovered his mistake he will probably try another."

"Then shall I go down-stairs and capture him as he descends?" suggested Lionel.

"Let us see first from the window," she said. "We must make sure."

They entered her bedroom together and walked softly toward the window.

The blind was up.

There was no moon, but the faint promise of the dawn lent a dim light, by which objects, grotesquely shadowed, could be distinguished. When they reached the window Lionel saw the top of a ladder resting against the sill.

"You're right!" he whispered. "Now, I'm off outside!" He turned to go, but was detained by a pressure on his arm.

"No, no!" whispered Winifred. "I can not let you--there may be a gang--you might get hurt----"

"Nonsense!"

"I insist!"

"Then why----"

"You must _not_ go! Throw something instead----"

"Absurd! I----"

"I beg you!" she entreated, and her voice was so timid that once again Lionel's heart failed. "All right!" he said. "Give me something heavy.

I'll fling up the window suddenly and surprise him!"

She pressed his arm gratefully and glided across the room. The next moment she was at his side, offering the water-jug.

"Capital!" whispered Lionel. "Drench him first, then stun him with the jug. Any other trifles to bestow? Soap--hair-brushes--a boot or two? Any little knickknacks----"

"The ladder is moving!"

It was being shifted a few inches, apparently to a better foothold.

Lionel seized the jug and made ready for action.

"Cigar or cocoa-nut, lidy?" he whispered joyously as he threw up the sash.

CHAPTER XXI